Which is it, America? All of us or none of us? Indigenous occupation or Columbus land disfiguration? Pilgrim or pillage? Pilgrimage to villages of my ancestors' souls' sole prints on pyramid grounds, not Plymouth Rock. Plundering, pasty, pale face pirates barter we good for their goods in our hoods. What's under the hood? Volkswagen? Folks draggin' my mans an' nem the body tumbling and thuds background sound for America's anthem. Mexican reclamation of real estate, now y'all up at arms throwing immigrant tantrums unforeign to we colored folk that have seen this before. Which is it, America? Go green or be black? Plant a tree for your tomorrow, while we sob in sorrow. Can we borrow a saw to sever our fruit from your bigoted branches and uproot racist remarks? You lie? You lie! You lie on our creativity's bed, reproducing cash from fucking us instead. Reduce credit, reuse demoralizing themes, recycle beats for sympathizing beatniks to freak and front our flavor. Profiting from persona-pimping my people from hip-hop, to rock, to jazz, to lips, hips, hair, nose, genitals and ass. I ask which is it, America? The other white meat, get beat to the white meat, or influenza driving under the influence of swine no matter whole, malignant, or benign. Pork, police, or pressing the oppressed to get shots, or get fined, or get jailed, or get shot, or get sick, or get profiled, or get pulled, or get lynched, or get premium lunch meat. Which is it? Bald Eagle or Pitbull? Sick of Vick or sic 'em? I guess while dogs battle now, back then they circled us like herded cattle, nipping at our dogs, so tired from protesting. Gnawing at our bones simmering in the Mason-Dixon sun and determined sweat. Your pup shits on trees while your laws shit on we. At least your bullets were free to roam in our dome, right? Can't even call this place your home, right? Which is it, bitch? Health care or Hollywood head? Which? Bi-partisanship or badger bi-racial brother? Monotonous monopoly on mahogany inspiration. WHICH IS IT, AMERICA? USA...or US?
Under the Weeping Willow Tree we meet Conversing with verses that are matched versus the Words of Man In the World of God We share smiles similar to similes that mirror our affection for each other Dark and lovely like 'universal forevers' echoed in the canals of ears In the annals of time Confined to this Earth with your lips pursed, Eyebrows raised and hands extended interlocking with mine as roots would sacred soil Deep stares I dare levy upon you to let your love sweat love out of its pores For a heartbeat concedes to both of our inner selves breathing in each other's air Even before wanting mouths explore and tongues so African reconnect I resurrect amorous psalms and proverbs before your presence Like limbs and leaves erect, Letting the ori omit opposites of bliss and Oya bless me with your breezy, easy calm Before the storm of passion fruit bares truth You supply the sunshine lemonade made ready for consumption as both our spirits bump your soul's selection Under the rocking of the arbor's dressing Feeling vibrations We connect like Bluetooth underneath the roof of the stars and heavens Video strides I take to shake the visible blues Ebbing and flowing to this day Your hips directional sway, makes my afternoon Just before night swoons to daybreak My ways with words are sometimes diverted by Exploratory detours when the minds meet Negativity's grinders causing mentality to Ground and insatiable insanity to inflate upwards. However, conversation that sate your thirst for edutainment cannot delay me in wait...to drink you and I, Smiles and all, knotted not in a carving of this tree's rough bark In a flask not fit for mortals and men so petty to spark the not so slick spiel So sleek that we grasp these emotions with grip tight rubber gloves And hope that love won't slip from our celestial hands above. This tree we congregate, spitting seeds of wisdom into the air Sprouting elements of freedom and Succulent visions of dusty domains we once called home Represents strength in its branches that hold in our anger And the stumps that lay roots sap our pains away We now wail with the winds and cry desire from our pores We dare rest here, beneath the shadow of the giant Spooning like we forgot fruit pieces in serving bowls Thanking the ancestors for become a blanket of eyes over us watching the recreation of God Take place In a space reserved for Nature. Do not park here.
Going to the Houston Brazilian Festival downtown made me want to escape to Brazil and never come back. That is, if I could take her and the children. I am not a fan of oppression, and I despise stagnation, so I am willing to live out my existence in Bahia or Rio. Who knows? I do plan to do a class and internship there next year with my friends. Advantages of speaking better Portuguese and maybe spending some time playing Capoeira there as well excites me! But that will take a portfolio, some scrilla, and total will to leave into a place so foreign to me. Come with?